


To Drive The Cold Winter Away: A Christmas Tale

by badskippy



Series: Bagginshield One-Offs [14]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, Lost Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Thorin to the rescue, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskippy/pseuds/badskippy
Summary: Bilbo is on his way home for Christmas!  But his car doesn't want to cooperate!  Now he's stuck and just what in the blue blazes is he going to do?!Cue an old, unrequited flame to come to the rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Airborn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airborn/gifts).



* * *

 

  

            _So much for the magic of Christmas_ , Bilbo thought as he sighed, mittened fists on this hips, staring into the gapping bonnet of his faded Spruce Green, 1963 Ford Anglia.   

            The day had started off so beautifully. Bilbo had done all the laundry, cleaned out the fridge, dusted, polished and generally tidied up his entire flat; nothing worst than coming home from holiday to a messy house.  He'd his Christmas music blaring, last minute cookie-baking filling the place with the smell of browning sugar – his little newphew would never forgive Uncle Bilbo if he didn’t bring a boat load of cookies.  Bilbo had even place his packed bags by the door, ready to go in the car.  And, to top off what Bilbo believed was a perfect winter day, it had started to snow!

            Finally, in the late afternoon, he dressed in warm clothes, making sure to wear the ugliest Christmas jumper he owned – it was a scream really - loaded everything into the back of the Anglia and set off. He was chuffed as he pulled out of his drive.

            What could go wrong?

            Well, thirty minutes into his drive, he found out. As he was cruising down the road, singing alone with carols at the top of his voice, a boot full of food and presents, just about to get onto the M4, smoke suddenly began pouring out of every crevice of the bonnet and Bilbo had been forced to the verge.

            So, having wrapped himself up tighter than King Tut in an enormous anorak, thick scarf pulled up over his lower face, and wooly hat, not to mention the aforementioned mittens, Bilbo stood out in the falling snow, wondering just what in the name of blue-blazes was he going to do? His mobile had poor reception and the dim winter sunshine was rapidly fading; night approached.

            He hated to admit it, but he was more than a little concerned. His parents were too far away and his two best friends were all out of town; Ori had gone to visit his brothers in Bath and Bofur was on holiday to Madrid. He could call a taxi, but then, what about his car? And if he got a tow, what about the food and presents?   Also, even if he got help, would the problem be something that could be fixed quickly? He knew that just because it looked bad, didn’t mean that it was and vice versa. The snow was really coming down now and frankly, his biggest fear was, what the hell he would do if _no one_ came for him?!

            _Shit!_ Bilbo could feel panic churning in his belly like sour milk.

            The whine of an engine, the flash of lights and the crunch of snow behind him had Bilbo turning as the front of a large breakdown truck stopped but five metres away from him.   Bilbo heard the driver engage the break and then open the door.

            “Do you need help?” came a deep voice from beyond the headlights.

            “Ah ...” Bilbo’s mother’s voice warned him of strangers and prowlers who took advantage of those broken down, robbing them or something far worse; he shook it off. “Yes.”

            “Are you out of petrol?” the man asked as he stepped forward.

            The guy was tall, about twenty centimeters taller than Bilbo, and broad; Bilbo guessed that under the bulky old military parka, the guy was still built like a rugger! Also, like Bilbo, he wore a thick wooly cap, and had his scarf pulled up over his lower face.

            “No,” Bilbo said. “At least ... I don’t think so.”

            “What’s wrong?” The guy asked, walking over next to Bilbo but placing his hands on the wing and looking into the bonnet.

            “With all due respect,” Bilbo said, trying so hard not to sound sarcastic, “if I knew what was wrong, I’d have your job.”

            The man’s deep laugh was warm and comforting to Bilbo. “Point taken!”

            Bilbo felt it would be rather rude to continue talking without showing his face, so he pulled down the hood of his anorak, whipped off his hat and lowered the scarf from his face. “I was driving along when smoke started pouring—”

            “Bilbo?!”

            Bilbo stepped back, away from the man. _How the hell does he know my name?!_ “I’m sorry, but ... do I know you?!”

            “It’s me!” The man stated, straightening up, removing his hat as Bilbo had, releasing a thick mane of dark hair, and pulled down his scarf, revealing a fully bearded face. “Thorin Durin!”

            Bilbo neither worried nor cared that his mouth fell open, gaping, because he couldn’t believe his eyes.

            _Christmas magic indeed!_

 

\------ooooo-----

 

            “What do you mean you’re _broken down_?!”

            “I was driv—”

            “Are you alright?!” Belladonna cried over the phone. “Are you hurt?!”

            “No, no. I’m fine! The car just—”

            “I keep telling you to get a new car!”

            “Mother, now is not the time—”

            “One of these days that ... _thing,_ is going to kill you!”

            Bilbo sighed; it was an old, tiresome, argument. “I’m _fine_ ... really. I’m sure it’s—”

            “Are you stuck on the side of the road?!”

            “Funny enough, an—”

            “I can send your father to fetch you!”

            “What?!”

            “BUNGO!” Belladonna yelled, obviously having turned way from the handset. “BILBO’S IN TROUBLE!”

            “Mum! I’m totally—”

            “Where are you, son!” Bungo demanded, cutting in on the other phone.

            “Dad, I’m fine.”

            “Your mother said you were in trouble!”

            “I’m not, honest. I’m standing in the repair shop.”

            “Oh!” Bungo sounded surprised and relieved.

            “Thor ... I mean, the mechanic is looking over the car now.”

            “You’re alone with some strange man?!” Belladonna gasped.

            Bilbo shook his head and huffed out another sigh. “I’m totally safe ... I mean, Thorin’s hardly a stra—”

            “Thorin?”

            _Oh, crap._ Bilbo hadn’t meant to blurt that out.

            “Is this the same Thorin from university?” Belladonna sounded far to pleased with the information.

            Bilbo realized there was no way out now. “Yes.”

            “Oh, sweetie! How delightful!”

            “My car is dead, hardly deligh—”

            “Is he still as handsome as you remember?” Belladonna’s smile was all too evident in her voice.

            “Mum!”

            “That’s my cue to hang up,” Bungo said quickly, chuckling. A click announced his departure.

            “Talk about a Christmas miracle!” Belladonna said with a wistful sigh.

            “Okay,” Bilbo had to end to this. “I broke down and, yes, Thorin was the one to come along and—”

            “Rescue you!”

            “— _find me_.” Bilbo rolled his eyes. “He’s checking everything out and, if all goes well, it’ll be something minor and I’ll be able to—” Bilbo stopped because he had looked over at the car, and Thorin, clearly overhearing Bilbo’s side of the conversation, was shaking his head. “Hold on, Mum.” Bilbo held his phone against, his chest as Thorin walked over, wiping his hands on a grease stained rag. “How bad is it?”

            Thorin shrugged. “Not bad ... per se.”

            “But not good.”

            Thorin shook his head. “It’s your water pump,” he clarified. “It’s not a lengthy repair, nor overly expensive ... however, a ’63 Ford water pump isn’t something I regularly keep on hand. Nor anyone else, I should imagine.”

            “Can it be ordered?” Bilbo hoped that something so small wouldn’t spell the doom of his beloved, if fussy, old car.

            Thorin nodded. “Absolutely. Hell, I can probably get one at the scrapyard.”

            Bilbo released the breath he had unwittingly held. “Thank goodness.”          

            “The real problem is that it’s Christmas Eve.”

            For a brief second Bilbo didn’t understand and then came the dawn. “Everything is closed.”

            Thorin nodded again. “And obviously won’t be open tomorrow either.”

            “Obviously.”

            “And, taking in that Boxing Day is also Friday,” Thorin said, “I doubt anywhere will be open then either.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo hadn’t thought that far ahead.

            “The yard _might be_ open Saturday,” Thorin confirmed. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath. Which means, whether ordered or gotten as scrap, I doubt I’ll get it in before Monday afternoon ... you’re looking at probably Tuesday.”

            “Fuck!”

            “BILBO BAGGINS!” Belladonna’s voice sounded from the phone.

            “Sorry,” Bilbo said, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Thorin just gave me the bad news.”

            “I heard,” Belladonna said. “Clearly you won’t make it for the party.”

            Belladonna’s Christmas Eve gathering was famous among the family and close relations, not to mention his parent’s neighbors and friends. Bilbo usually came a little early, bringing more food – although his mother usually made enough to feed a small, third world country – and he would stay through to New Year’s Day.

            “I’ll come as soon as I can,” Bilbo assured his mother. “I should be there for New Year’s though.”

            “Are you sure you don’t want me to send your father for you?”

            “No! Absolutely not,” Bilbo insisted. “It would be a three hour round trip at the best of times, but with the snow and the dark ...” Bilbo trailed off; there was no way he’d approve of his elderly father risking his life over a party.

            “But what are you going to do for tonight?” Belladonna sounded quite worried.

            Bilbo hadn’t thought about that. “I guess I’ll ... call for a taxi or ...” But Thorin was shaking his head again. “... something.” Bilbo looked at Thorin. “No?”

            “As you said,” Thorin stated, pointing at the nearest window; the snow was really coming down now. “With the snow, I doubt you’d get anyone to come out in this weather.”

            Bilbo sighed. What _was_ he to do?

            “You know ...” Thorin licked his lips. “You ... could ... if you wanted ... I mean, you not obligated or anything ... you may not want to ... but, since your plans are ... you know ... and I don’t ... I mean, that is, I ...”

            “Go on.”

            “Well, you’re ... you’re ... welcome to stay here.”

            “Here?” Bilbo parroted, looking about the place. “You mean, like ... in my car?”

            Thorin looked like he was fighting an eye-roll. “No. I mean with me.” Thorin pointed to the ceiling. “I live upstairs.”

            “Oh!” Bilbo could feel his cheeks warm. “I’d ... I’d hate to ... impose.”

            “It’s no imposition; I invited you. Besides, it could be ...” Thorin cleared his throat, giving Bilbo a sheepish grin. “... fun.”

            “Really?” Bilbo was more than surprised; shocked more like. “You’re sure?”

            “Sure,” Thorin’s smile was a little loopy. “It’ll be nice.”

            Bilbo blushed a bit but nodded. “Okay then.”

            “Wonderful!” Belladonna’s voice sounded again; Bilbo had forgotten she was there. “Tell Thorin thank you!”

            Bilbo sighed, but couldn’t help but smile and told Thorin, “Mum says ‘Thank you.’”

            Thorin leaned down and so that the phone wasn’t far from his mouth. “It’s my pleasure, Missus Baggins.”

            Belladonna giggled like schoolgirl. “He has such a lovely voice, Bilbo!”

            Bilbo thanked the Gods that Thorin couldn’t hear that. “Good-bye, Mum.”

            “Call me tomorrow, dear.”

            “I will.”

            “And tell Thorin it was so nice to meet him.”

            “But you haven’t met him.”

            “In a way!” Belladonna insisted. “Lord knows, I’ve heard enough about him over the years.”

            “ _Good-bye_ , Mum.”

            “Happy Christmas, sweetheart.”

            “Happy Christmas.”

            Bilbo rang off and slipped his phone in his back pocket. He’d agreed to stay and it certainly wasn’t like he didn’t want to stay, but _Good grief_ ; he was suddenly an eighteen-year-old freshman again, staring up at a God-like figure before him! _Don’t babble, don’t babble, don’t babble._ “So ...” Bilbo started, shaking off his unease.

            “So ...” Thorin said, nodding and twisting the grease-stained rag with his oil-smeared hands; nervously.

            Bilbo understood; it’d been five years since they’d seen each other and Thorin wasn’t sure what to do either! _Oh no!_ Bilbo couldn’t have that! Something rather protective rose up and conquered his anxiety. “Why don’t we eat,” Bilbo said cheerfully, amazed at how steady his voice sounded.

            Thorin’s eyes widened though. “I don’t ... I ... crap, I don’t have a lot upstairs.”

            Bilbo shrugged; he got this. “Lucky for you, I have plenty.” Thorin looked confused but Bilbo walked over to his car, popped open the boot and started pulling out totes. “I always bring more food for Mum’s Christmas Eve party.” He turned and gave Thorin a toothy grin. “Lord knows why, though; the woman makes enough to feed an army and their horses!”

            Thorin chuckled at that.

            “Here.” Bilbo held out two totes for Thorin to take. “If you take these, I’ll grab the rest.” He’d leave the wrapped presents; they’d be safe in the boot while his car was safely tucked in Thorin’s shop.

            “Are you sure?” Thorin looked down at the totes in his hands. “This is a lot of food!”

            “Not really,” Bilbo said, placing the last three totes on the ground, closing the boot and then picking up the totes again. “And any left-overs you are welcome to keep.”

            “You don’t have to do that,” Thorin insisted, turning now to lead Bilbo to the stairs.

            “I think I do,” Bilbo replied firmly as he followed Thorin up. “You saved my bacon. The least I can do is feed you some of said bacon.”

            Thorin laughed but it died quickly, as he turned on the stairs to face Bilbo. “I should warn you. It’s not very ... uhm ... I mean, it’s probably not as tidy—”

            “Forget that,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin a pointed look. “My friend Bofur ... sweet man though he is ... loves to tinker and invent and mess about with any machine he can get his hands on, so his idea of clean is that there only needs to be a clear path from the front door through the mess!”

            Thorin didn’t laugh. “I don’t know if mine is that much better.”

            “My point, Thorin ...” Bilbo said, motioning Thorin to continue up the stairs, which he did. “... is that I don’t judge someone on whether they are house proud or not.”

            “Okay,” Thorin sighed. He’d reached the top, opening the door while still managing to hang on to the food-heavy totes. “Come in.”

            “Oh,” Bilbo was surprised. It wasn’t so much messy as simply untidy.

            “It’s not much,” Thorin said quietly. “But, it’s home.”

            “It’s fine,” Bilbo stated honestly. He’d seen far worse from his cousins, Bagginses though they were, not to mention Bofur.

            “I wasn’t expecting company,” Thorin stressed, walking Bilbo and the totes of food to the kitchen.

            “Really, Thorin,” Bilbo said, with a chuckle. “You have nothing to worry about.” _Not in my eyes anyway_ , but Bilbo kept that to himself.

            Placing the totes he carried on the surface, Thorin said, “The cooker can be a bit tricky but all the burners work. I’ll just ...” Thorin looked at the sink which had a few plates and glasses in it. “I’ll just wash up these, and—”

            “Stop.” Bilbo reached out and gently wrapping his hand around Thorin’s wrist. “I know my way around a kitchen.” Bilbo blushed a little at the warm contact between them and released Thorin. “I’ll take care of dinner, so why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

            Thorin raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you saying I stink?”

            Bilbo rolled his eyes, smiling. “No more than any man who worked a long day, then rescued me, towed my car, proceeded to look said car over and is now entitled to a hot shower and a descent meal.”

            Thorin smirked. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

            “I never said you stink.”

            “But I do.”

            “Yes ... but I never said it.”

            Thorin released a full, throaty laugh and Bilbo was more than warmed by it.

            “Okay,” Thorin sighed, playfully throwing up his hands. “I’ll go clean up.”

            “Good,” Bilbo stated with a smile. “That gets you out of my way while I cook.”

            Thorin laughed again and headed out of the kitchen towards what Bilbo was sure was his bedroom.

            Bilbo turned on the oven, and started pulling out foil wrapped dishes from the totes. There really wasn’t any _actual_ cooking to be done; it just needed to be heated. When the last of the hot dishes were in the oven, he looked about the place. _I’ll have plenty of time to tidy_ , Bilbo thought, as he removed his anorak and set to work.

 

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Thorin was dying inside. Granted, he would gladly admit, to himself anyway, that he’d always dreamed that this night would happen; he’d be traveling along a road, and find Bilbo in need of rescue and they would have a lovely reunion and confess their undying love and live happily ever after.

            The end.

            Thorin rolled his eyes at himself. It was a ridiculous fantasy, feed by his delusional mind and lonely heart. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure back in uni if Bilbo fancied him or not, but now with five years between then and now, there was little if any chance of said happy ending.

            Just a sad ending probably.

            He sat on his bed and let reality sink in; he’d helped an old university – _Classmate? Acquaintance? Pal?_ – and now they were having dinner but only because the weather was terrible and Bilbo had nowhere else to go. That was it in a nutshell. If it was even a little better out, Bilbo would have been gone in heartbeat.

            Thorin felt even worse.

            _But what if there is something there?_ Whispered a quiet voice in Thorin’s head.

            Yeah, what if?

            _Shouldn’t you take the chance?_

            But what if I’m rejected?

            _Then you’re no worse off._

            True.

            _And you at least might be friends again._

            _Friends._ The word stuck in Thorin’s craw. Could he be happy just being friends with Bilbo? Seeing each other now and then, like back in uni, and only hanging out with each other?

            Could Thorin’s heart take that?

            Wouldn’t it hurt?

            Well, off course it would hurt! But fuck it! He been blessed with a chance to have Bilbo in his life again, even just a little, even just as friends, and he’d sure as fuck not let this pass him by!

            He caught a sight of himself in the mirror and groaned; he looked a fucking mess!   He ripped off his old, grease stained military parka, then the grimy jumper that his sister hated and threatened to burn every time she saw him in it, and then his shirt.

            He caught a whiff of himself.

            Oh god! He did stink!

            As he was pulling off his filthy work boots he caught another, better glimpse of himself and stilled; his hair and beard were totally unkempt! Shit, if someone didn’t know he worked hard for a living, he wouldn’t be surprised if they thought him a homeless guy!

            Thorin grabbed his phone and dialed the last person he wanted to call but the first person he knew he needed to.

            “Please tell me you aren’t on the road,” Dis said in lieu of a greeting.

            “I’m not,” Thorin answered.

            “Oh thank god!” Dis breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s really coming down and my fear was that you were going to try and push it, only to get stuck on the side of the road or something.”

            “Push what?”

            There was a pause on the other end before Dis said quietly, “You forgot.”

            “Forgot what?” Thorin was confused and then came the dawn; he’d sort of promised to drop by Christmas Eve. “Oh shit.”

            “You did forget.”

            “I’m sorry. I got tied up and it completely slipped my mind.”

            “I should be angry,” Dis said, clearly amused. “But the fact that you are safe, makes up for it.” There was another tiny pause, then Dis asked, “You are safe, aren’t you? I mean ... you aren’t calling because you _are_ stuck in drift somewhere, are you?!”

            Thorin wanted to roll his eyes because Dis was such the worrywart, but because she worried so, it was still a rather endearing. “I’m fine.”

            “Oh good.”

            “I just have a ... problem.”

            “A problem?”

            “And only you can really answer it.”

            “What kind of problem?”

            Thorin drew a deep, steading breath and readied himself. “I ... need to know ...”

            “Yes?”

            Thorin drew another deep breath. “I need to ... to cut my hair myself.”

            There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

            “Dis?”

            The silence stretched.

            “Are you still there?” Thorin wondered if he’d lost the connection.

            He hadn’t.

            “What the _fuck_ do you mean you need to _cut off your hair_?” Dis asked, sounding very confused.

            “Not cut it off,” Thorin clarified. “I just need to ... trim it. It looks a bit ratty.”

            The silence returned.

            “Dis?”

            “Do you have _a date_?!”

            Thorin sighed, defeated. He knew she’d get there. “It’s not a date, per se ...”

            “You have a guy over!” Dis sounded positively giddy.

            “Dis ...”

            “Oh my, GOD!” Dis almost squealed. “What’s his name? Is he nice? Do you like him? I mean, is it someone special or is this just a booty call?”

            “Dis!”

            “Well .... there’s nothing wrong with a casual hook up now and then!”

            Thorin sighed again. “It’s not ... not like that! Bilbo isn’t some cheap—”

            “Bilbo?!”

            Thorin hung his head.

            “Is this the same Bilbo you’ve mooned over for the last five years?!”

            He was totally fucked. “Yes.”

            Dis actually did squeal. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy for you!”

            “Dis, please.” All of Thorin’s doubts came flooding back. “His car broke down and there was no way for him to make it home safe, so of course I offered—”

            “OH MY GOD! HE’S STAYING THERE?!”    

            The urged to bash his head into the nearest wall flashed through Thorin’s mind but he fought it. “Dis, will you—”

            “What a minute!” Dis shouted. “You have him in your house right now?! What the _fuck_ are you doing on the phone with your sister?!”

            “Because ... _I ... need ... to trim ... my hair!”_

            “Oh ... right.”

            “And since I’m about to jump in the shower, I thought I’d do so before hand.”

            “Good thinking,” Dis was on board. “And trim up your beard to! It’s starting to look grizzly.”

            “I know, I know.”

            “Okay,” Dis sounded all business now. “Here’s what you do ...”

            He thought about taking notes but opted instead to repeat Dis' instructions back to her slowly a few times. Afterwards, when he'd finish the trim, an inch of his mid-back length hair was gone and he thought he did a pretty decent job; the ends looked neater and healthier at any rate. His beard was easy, of course. He contemplated clipping it down to just stubble – like he had in university – but he feared he’d regret it the next day. Besides, if Bilbo truly didn’t like it, he could always shave later.

            He took a long time in the shower. He concentrated on his hands and forearms – and parts of his face – working on getting the oil and grease stains off; he offered up thanks to the gods for whoever invented Swarfega. When he declared himself free of grime, he washed again, vigorously, with some fancy soap Dis had bought for him; _You need to smell more like a human and less like the inside of an engine_ , she’d told him. At the time, he’d dismissed the whole thing; who the hell wanted to smell like citrus fruit or whatever the fuck scent it was. Now though? He was once more sending thanks to the gods for Dis’ foresight.

             _For some reason, this scent reminds me of Bilbo,_ Thorin mused to himself. _I can only hope he actually likes oranges._

           

\-----ooooo-----

 

            Bilbo was very pleased!  The place looked so much better!  And Bilbo hadn’t minded one bit!

            He fondly, if amusingly, remembered the first time he’d ever met Thorin.

 

_It was the day he’d arrived at Erebor University, leagues away from home, but he was thrilled!   Classes didn’t start for another week, but Bilbo wanted to get there, settle in, explore the area and be ready so that the first day of classes, he wouldn’t wander around lost._

_He’d just bought his beloved Anglia two weeks before! It was used, obviously, but had only one previous owner; a little old man who’d bought it new and had babied the car since the first day. His mother hated the car right off, but Bilbo adored it; it was the Spruce green color that had him from the start. He’d packed the car full; too full if truth be told. Bilbo had wanted to bring all his books and all his clothes and cd’s and pictures and bedding and so forth._

_Once he located his hall of residence, he made a beeline for the building. While most of the rooms were single study-bedrooms, there were about twenty twin rooms for those that didn’t mind sharing; Bilbo didn’t mind. His roommate was to be a young art student, Orrin ‘Ori’ Risson, but Ori wasn’t going to be arriving for another few days._

_That meant unpacking the car alone. No matter, Bilbo was too excited to care or worry about it. However, Bilbo was also too excited to think sensibly and in his rush, tried to carry far too much and ended up tripping over his own big feet and landing, sprawled, face down, on the lawn; his bags going everywhere. Laughter broke out all about him and, frankly, after the first few moments of total embarrassment died, he would have laughed himself._

_But something happen he didn’t expect._

_“You okay?” a deep voice sounded somewhere above and behind him._

_Bilbo rolled over and froze as the most handsome guy he’d ever seen in his life was standing there, wearing an almost-too-small sleeveless tee that showed off the guy’s muscular arms and torso. “I’m fine,” Bilbo whispered, barely able to form words as he looked at the guy._

_That made the guy laugh, but it wasn’t mocking. “You just face-planted into the dirt,” he said, reaching out to Bilbo. “Fine isn’t quite the word I’d use.”_

_Bilbo couldn’t help but giggle; the guy had a point. “Except for my pride, I’m not hurt.” He took the guy’s hand and was instantly hauled up to his feet as if he weighted nothing._

_“Let me help,” the guys said, now reaching for some of Bilbo’s bags._

_“You ... you don’t have—”_

_“No problem.” The guy shrugged and soon had most of Bilbo’s cases in his strong hands._

_Bilbo nodded, picking up the last three bags; the smallest of the entire bunch. He led the guy into the building and up to his room, two-eighteen, where everything was unceremoniously dumped on the bed to the left._

_“I ... I appreciate it,” Bilbo said, a little shyly._

_“Don’t mention it,” the guy said. Again, he stuck out a hand. “I’m Thorin, by the way.”_

_Bilbo shook Thorin’s hand. “Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.”_

_“Thorin Durin.”_

_Bilbo nodded and gave Thorin a quick smile. But it faded when he realized he was still shaking Thorin’s hand; he released it quickly._

_“So ...” Thorin stuck his hands in his pocket. “I take it this is this your first year?”_

_Bilbo nodded again. He made a mental note to stop do that. “Yes.”_

_“Well ... if you need anything,” Thorin said, “Feel free to ask. I’m just upstairs—” Thorin pointed to the ceiling “—three-oh-six.”_

_“Right ... three-oh-six.” Bilbo said, catching himself as he was about to nod once more like a bobble-head doll._

_“Right,” Thorin parroted. “So ...”_

_“So ...”_

_Thorin cleared his throat. “So, I’ll just ... just, see you around.”_

_“Sure,” Bilbo said, smiling like an idiot. “I’ll see you.”_

_“Yeah.” Thorin backed out of the room. “See you.”_

_Thorin walked off and Bilbo’s legs almost went out from him. He wasn’t sure if he should faint or puke or both! Thorin was – well, there was no other word for it, amazing!_

_Bilbo suddenly remembered his manners and dashed to the door. “THANK YOU!” he called out to Thorin’s retreating back._

_“ANYTIME!” Thorin shouted back over his shoulder._

_Bilbo was floored! Thorin Durin was all kinds of tasty and handsome and oh so nice and ‘heroic’ and ... and, probably not the least bit interested in a small, gnome of a guy. Still, Bilbo thought it would be nice to have a ... friend? ... so, he should at least say thank you somehow. After thinking it over, he remembered his mother telling him that nothing says thank you like food, and Bilbo figured that if Thorin was a typical guy, he’d never say no to sweets!_

_Biscuits were the way to go._

_A few hours later, Bilbo was standing at Thorin’s door, a huge container of store-bought biscuits – homemade would have been better, but Bilbo hadn’t wanted to waste time trying to find someone to lend him a cooker to use – and very hesitant; there was loud rock music blaring from behind Thorin’s door._

_Maybe Thorin had friends over?_

_Maybe Thorin would be embarrassed that Bilbo was there?_

_Hell, maybe Thorin would be annoyed Bilbo was there!_

_Bilbo was sure this was a bad idea. He knocked, gently, and waited all of five seconds before he decided to turn around and scurry back to his room and drown his sorrows in a huge tin of store-bought biscuits and—_

_Thorin’s door flew open before Bilbo could move and there was Thorin, smiling down at him. From what Bilbo could see, Thorin’s room looked very ‘lived in.’ Apparently Thorin thought anything that stood still, was a good place to hang clothes! The bed looked unmade, books were scattered about, there were shoes littering the floor and the lamp by the bed had its shade crooked. All in all, the place was a total wreck, a disaster, a total nightmare!   And all Bilbo wanted was to clean it and make it nice; take care of Thorin._

_“Hey there!” Thorin said over the blasting sounds of what Bilbo thought might be AC/DC - hard to tell at that decibel - and pulling Bilbo out of his thoughts._

_“Hello,” Bilbo replied._

_Thorin turned and took a few steps into his room and then the music almost disappeared. “What’s up? You okay?”_

_“For now," Bilbo said, being cheeky, which made_ _Thorin laugh.  "_ _I brought you these,” Bilbo stated, holding out the tin for Thorin to take._

_Thorin was clearly surprised. “For me?”_

_“As a way of saying thank you.”_

_Thorin took the tin gently. “Thanks!”_

_Bilbo nodded. “Least I could do.”_

_“Is that food I smell?!” Came a deep voice from behind Bilbo. Suddenly, a huge, broad, bald guy appeared beside them. “Fucking yeah! Biscuits!” The guy grabbed the tin and whipped the lid off, digging in with gusto._

_“Those are mine, you fucking git!” Thorin said, trying to reach for the tin but not succeeding._

_The guy barked out a laugh. “I’ll save you a few, don’t worry!” He entered Thorin’s room and threw himself onto the bed; not even bothering to remove his shoes, much to Bilbo’s horror._

_Thorin sighed. “Fucking arse!”_

_Bilbo however, felt very hot and a little sick to his stomach. Of course Thorin would have friends ... maybe more than friends? ... friends who were like Thorin was ... big and strong and more interesting and far better than Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo just wanted to run away. “Well ... I’ll just let you ... get back to what you were doing.”_

_“You don’t have to go,” Thorin insisted._

_Bilbo glanced over at the bald guy, who was munching his way through the biscuits. “You’re busy.”_

_“Ignore him, he’s an idiot,” Thorin said, pointing a thumb at the other guy, who gave Thorin a two-fingered salute in return._

_“No ... I ... I should go,” Bilbo said softly. “I’ll ... see you.” He just wanted to leave. He felt uncomfortable and stupid; he wanted to go hide._

_“Bilbo,” Thorin said, grabbing Bilbo’s arm and stopping him for a minute. “Thank you and ... I’m sorry if ... if my cousin upset you.”_

_Cousin. Thorin’s cousin! “I’m not upset,” Bilbo answered with a smile. Oh he felt so much better now!_

_“Good,” Thorin cleared his throat. “Thanks again.”_

_“No. Thank you.”_

_“See you.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Thorin turned around and walked into his room, yelling at his cousin, “Dwalin, put my fucking biscuits down, you bloody knob!” and slammed the door._

_But Bilbo was thrilled._

_Just his cousin!_

_Bilbo had hoped to see more of Thorin after that. But it didn’t work out as he’d have liked. Even with classes a week away, he ended up being far busier than he thought and every time he went by Thorin’s room, he was never home. Then Ori arrived, classes started and sightings of Thorin became as rare as UFO’s. He’d hoped they’d run into each other more often, but Bilbo had to contend with watching Thorin at games – Thorin it turned out was one of the best, if not the best, Rugby players at university - and the occasional run-in, the passing by, the wave across the quad or shout out across the car park; both were always heading in opposite directions it seemed._

_Before he knew it, Bilbo was done with his first year and really felt Thorin’s total absence when he went home. After moping and pining all summer holiday and going on and on and on about Thorin, his mum told him to ‘either tell that boy how you feel, or move on, Bilbo. This is no way to live your life.’_

_So, Bilbo decided, come the autumn, he’d just march right up to Thorin and ask him out and just do it!_

_But Thorin didn’t return at the start of autumn classes. In fact, Thorin didn’t return at all, and just before December, Bilbo began hearing stories that Thorin had left school to join the army, that he was now stationed half way around the world; far away from Bilbo._

_That’s when Bilbo decided to give in to his father’s wishes. He packed up, moved home and finished university at Rivendell Academy._

_He never saw Thorin again._

_But he never forgot Thorin either._

            Bilbo was very happy; honestly, Thorin’s place wasn’t near as bad as Bofur’s. Pillows fluffed, blanket’s folded up and placed over the back of the couch and chair, shoes collected and placed by the door, the few empty bottles dumped in the bin, the couple of glasses washed and drying by the sink – all the dishes were done for that matter – any little bits of paper or receipts lying about were collected and placed under a bowl that stood on the small table, a quick wipe down with a clean rag and the place swept, it was totally fine! Bilbo had even figured out how to turn on the gas fireplace and had a cozy little blaze going in the hearth.

            Granted, it wasn’t furnished as nicely as Bilbo’s house, but he instantly chastised himself for even thinking such a thing! Thorin was a hardworking man who probably didn’t have time to clean. And living above his job had to take its toll! Bilbo bet Thorin worked late each night – having no need to rush home.

            Maybe Thorin needed someone to drop by now and then. Give him a helping hand. Make sure things ran smoothly for him. Take care of him. Cook for him. Pamper him a little. Or a lot. Maybe even a great deal.

            _Just stop it, Baggins._ Bilbo shook his head. He’d just run into Thorin after five years, for Christ’s sake! Thorin was just being nice. That’s all. Bilbo shouldn’t be reading into things just because Thorin took pity on a poor sap and invited him to stay. Why just look at me–

            _OH MY GOD!!_ Bilbo looked down at himself; he'd forgotten he was wearing the ugliest Christmas jumper known to mankind!

            _GET IT OFF AND GET IT OFF NOW!!_

            Bilbo started yanking and pulling and, sure as the sun rose in the east, Bilbo soon had himself tangled up in the damn thing. _Brilliant!_ Now his hair would be a mess and God only knew how he looked, dancing about with a jumper twisted about his head.

            “Let me help you,” came Thorin’s amused voice.

            Bilbo stilled as he felt Thorin suddenly standing close behind him, and strong hands started disentangling Bilbo from the accursed garment. But instead of pulling it off, Thorin pulled it down.

            Bilbo laughed. “I was attempting to take the thing off!” He pulled at the hem and finger combed his hair, his back still to Thorin.

            Thorin chuckled. “I can see that, but I’d hate for you to get cold.”

            “Well, I’m sure—” Bilbo turned and lost all ability to speak.

            Thorin was so hot! His still-damp hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his beard had been trimmed neat. He wore a red and green striped Rugby jersey that was clearly well worn but still in good shape.   A pair of black jeans, loose enough to be comfortable and yet tight enough to show off his muscular legs, and a some thick, black socks.

            Bilbo was in so much trouble.

            Bilbo tried working his mouth, saying slowly, “You ... look ...”

            “Okay?” Thorin asked.

 _Okay?_ Bilbo thought. _Sure, if ‘okay’ meant looking like big Christmas present begging to be unwrapped, then yes, you look ‘okay.’_ “You look very ... nice,” Bilbo almost face palmed at his insipid response but kept his cool.

            “Thanks,” Thorin said, shuffling his feet a bit.

            _YOU ARE SUCH A MORON, BAGGINS!_ Bilbo was sure a good slap across his face would do him good right then. “I mean, you look really ... nice.” He should just give up. “Are you hungry?”

            Thorin nodded. “Famished actually.”

            “Good,” Bilbo said, smiling; he could take of that! “Dinner is ready.”

            Thorin returned the smile and but then stilled. He’d caught sight of his surroundings. “Holy shit ... you do fast work!”

            Bilbo blushed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

            Thorin shook his head like he was trying to dispel a dream. “I can’t remember the last time the place was this clean.” Thorin’s cheeks colored. “I guess I should be ashamed to admit that.”

            “No!” Bilbo said, hook an arm around one of Thorin’s and leading him to the kitchen. “You are busy and live alone and it was no big deal for me to tidy! It was the least I could do after you saved me on the road.”

            “But you cooked too,’ Thorin pointed out, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.   “You didn’t have to—”

            “I wanted to,” Bilbo said, pulling the hot dishes out of the oven and pulling the foil off. “Besides, the food was made and would have gone to waste just sitting in the car and I only tidied your living room and kitchen, hardly a difficult task.”

            “Well,” Thorin said with a sigh, “I’m very grateful.”

            “As I am,” Bilbo assured him. He was so smitten it was terrible! But he had zero regrets. He placed a plate loaded with Chicken Tetrazzini, Green Bean casserole, along with mashed sweet potato topped with oven-roasted nuts.

            They ate in silence for several long minutes; both too hungry to do more than just dig in.

            But Thorin wasn’t silence for too long. “This fucking amazing!”

            “Thank you,” Bilbo said, reaching for his wine glass; the one that was sitting there totally empty. “Oops!” Bilbo giggled. “I forgot the wine!”

            “I’ll get it,” Thorin stated.

            “No, no. You eat, I’ll pour.”

            “No, let me,” Thorin said, starting to stand only to sit right back down and grimace in pain, and grabbing his leg. “Shit!”

            “What’s wrong?!”

            “My fucking knee.”

            “What happened to your knee?” Bilbo was concerned on many levels. First off, Thorin was in pain and that just didn’t sit well with Bilbo. But also, if Thorin needed to seek medical attention, what they hell were they going to do with the snow still coming down in buckets!

            “It’s my old injury. It acts up mostly during the winter.”

            “What injury?”

            “From my crash.”

            “You had a crash? When?”

            Thorin looked at Bilbo, perplexed. Then he relaxed. “Of course. You never knew.”

            “Knew what?” Bilbo ask.

            “I wrecked my motorcycle the summer after we met.”

            _The summer after they met; the summer Thorin didn’t come back to school._ Bilbo got it now. “So _that’s_ _why_ you never came back?!”

            Thorin colored again. “Sort of. I mean ... basically yes.”

            Didn’t sound basic to Bilbo _. “Sort of?”_

            Thorin sat for a minute, twirling the fork in his hand and clearly debating with himself internally, if the expression on his face said anything. Bilbo got up and opened the wine, pouring each of them a glass and saying nothing; he could be patient; he wanted to know this. Not only because he was curious, but also because it was Thorin and Bilbo wanted to be involved; if there was a problem he wanted to solve it! Well, _help_ solve it, he corrected himself. He didn’t want to push in where he had no right.

            “Thorin?” Bilbo placed the wine glasses on the table and retook his seat.

            Thorin took a deep breath and released it but said nothing.

            “Please?”

            Thorin put his fork down and gave in. “You remember my cousin?”

            “The biscuit killer?”

            Thorin smiled at that. “Dwalin wouldn’t mind that moniker. But, yes, him.”

            Bilbo nodded.

            “He was over going to university,” Thorin said, “and was talking about going into the military instead. We’d both talked about it, really, but by the summer, I’d changed my mind.”

            Bilbo waited; he knew there was more there.

            “So, we took that summer, and kind of ... traveled around. We rode our cycles across country, camped, and visited places together, just the two of us. We’d always been close, see and, while we never said it aloud, we wanted something to remember _‘Us’_ if ... well, if anything were to happen to Dwalin while he was deployed.”

            Bilbo could understand that. He’d been really close to his cousin, Drogo, and before they both went off to university, they’d taken a trip to Amsterdam for fun.

            “Anyway,” Thorin continued, taking a drink of his wine. “We were returning home, when ... when I had a wreck ... got run off the road by a drink driver.”

            “Oh, God.”

            Thorin nodded. “The bike was totaled but, I was lucky ... lots of cuts and bruises, mild concussion, but the only major thing was my knee.” Thorin tapped his left knee. “Messed it up real bad and required surgery. That went fine and they said that if I took it really easy, I’d be okay. Should still be able to play. I was only in for a few weeks.”

            Bilbo remembered fondly watching Thorin run up and down the Rugby pitch.

            “However, the day I check out of hospital, it was raining really bad and ...” Thorin shook his head, remembering. “... I was in a rush ... I wanted to get out of there and go home. But I didn’t watch what I was doing and as we went out to the car park, I slipped ... and not only screwed up the fixed knee, but I broke my ankle on that side.”

            “Oh, no!”

            “I went right back inside and had another surgery for the knee and had to have the ankle pinned. But I'd really fucked up the knee, and they weren’t sure if I would heal enough to play again, but they were hopeful.”

            Bilbo didn’t like that tone in Thorin’s voice. “But ... it didn't heal enough, did it?”

            Thorin sighed. “I ended up getting an infection at the surgical site ... they had open me up again ...  drain it out ... a third surgery and ... well, a month later, after IV antibiotics and drains, they announced that the knee would heal, and I’d have no limp ... but I’d never be able to play again.”

            It may have happened five years before, but for Bilbo, his disappointment for Thorin was fresh and raw. “I’m so sorry.”

            Thorin shrugged, resigned at this point. “Rugby was out of my life and, even if I changed my mind about the military, the Army would never take me because of the injury, plus, not to mention ...” Thorin paused for a few longs seconds, staring at Bilbo as if there was something else, but he blinked and looked away.  “Anyway, I got real low ... really depressed.”

            “I think that’s understandable.”

            “Maybe,” Thorin said. “My Uncle Fundin was the one to pull me out of it. You see, he’d always hoped that Dwalin would someday come and take over the repair shop, but that didn’t happen.   Uncle started having me come by and work here with him ... told me he didn't have someone who knew motorcycles like I did.  It seemed odd to me, but I finally agree and over time I ... I got good ... not just with bikes but with cars too.  I finally realized that it was something I enjoyed ... so I went back to trade school and got licensed ... and ... well ... that’s how I ended up here. Uncle Fundin decided a few months back that he wanted to semi-retire, so I bought him out and took over the business.”

            “But, that’s wonderful!” Bilbo was pleased. “Not about your depression, of course ... that’s horrible ... but I’m so happy your uncle opened a door for you and it’s worked out so well.”

            “Not the same as being a professional player,” Thorin said, amused.

            “No ... that’s true. But, then again, going Pro in sports has to be very difficult, I should imagine, and not always a sure thing. Even for someone as good as yourself.”

            “ _Was_ good ... and I meant, it wasn’t the same as in, not exactly glamorous or ... thrilling.”

            “Agreed, but it’s far better, I think.”

            Thorin laughed. “You think it’s better being a lowly mechanic?”

            Bilbo bristled at that. “I don’t think lowly is quite the word I’d use!”

            “No, but ...”

            “Honestly, Thorin ... you contribute to society and keep people’s vehicles working, and that means they can go on to contribute in their way. Rugby players are all well and good, but in the long run, when someone is broken down and in desperate need of help, you’d be the hero of the hour, not some player from The Lions!”

            Thorin’s cheeks colored again. “Are you just saying that?”

            “No. I’m not.” Bilbo was very proud that Thorin had gone through what he had and come out on top. At least, he’d come out on top in Bilbo’s opinion and that’s all that matter to Bilbo.

            “Thank you.”

            “You deserve it.”

            Thorin gave Bilbo a odd look; it was gentle, soft, almost tender, but it was also something furtive. Bilbo held the look, unwilling to look away.

            “Why did you leave?” Thorin asked quietly.

            “Leave what?” Bilbo felt suddenly warm.

            “Leave school. Why did you leave Erebor?”

            _Oh, dear._ Bilbo wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that, because he knew he’d tell Thorin the truth; lying to Thorin was out of the question. So he did what he usually did; deflect the question. “Why did you never return?”

            “I told you, I was—”

            “You could’ve come back. You could’ve returned and continued on. It was only half a year ... you could have made that up over the following summer.”

            Thorin now held Bilbo’s gaze, but he took a deep breath as his steadying himself and said, firmly, “I didn’t come back because I had no reason to return.”

            “Just because you couldn’t play—”

            “It wasn’t rugby, Bilbo! It was you!”

            You could have heard a pin drop, had Bilbo been able to hear anything, what with the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his heart beating harder and faster. Had Thorin just said –

            “By the time I was on the mend and coming out of my depression, I’d heard from friends you were planning on leaving.”

            Bilbo didn’t know what to say; stunned barely covered it.

            Thorin sighed, and polished off the rest of his wine, pouring another large glass for himself. “I’d lost my ability to play ... the door to the military was closed ... but the worst thing was that I lost you and before I could tell you how I felt.”

            _Oh. My. GOD!_

            “I’d thought about writing you at your parents but ... by the time I got a hold of their address, I figured it was useless. You were gone. Why bother? It wouldn’t have mattered.”

            “But it would have!” Bilbo insisted. “I swear! I only left because you didn’t come back!”

            “WHAT?!”

            Bilbo nodded. “My father never wanted me to go so far away for school, but Mum encouraged me to live the adventure ... and once I met you, I _wanted_ to stay and be close to you!   Then, you didn’t return and I heard rumors you’d gone off and had joined the army or something, and I didn’t see a reason to stay any longer!”

            Thorin hung his head; he almost looked defeated  "I ... I don't believe it.”

            “It's the truth!  I swear!”  Bilbo was beside himself.

            Thorin shook his head.  "No, it's not that, It's just ... all these years," Thorin said, clearly turning it over.  "I thought you had no interest in me."

            "How can you say that?!"  Bilbo was amazed.  "To me, I wore my feelings openly ... I thought _you_ had no interest!"

            "Every time I passed you, I said hello, or good morning, or how are you, or something ...  _anything ..._ to get your attention!  But you'd only nod, say hi and then ignore me!"

            "Well, most of the time, whenever I'd walk passed, I could hear your friends laughing at me!"

            Thorin groaned.  "Bil, they weren't laughing at you, they were laughing at me!   They thought I was ridiculous for not saying something more to you ... or ask you out!"

            "Seriously?!"  Was Bilbo even hearing this right?  "Then, why _didn't_ you ask me out?!"

            "You were always hanging out with your literature and ... art friends!  Especially that ...  _ginger_ guy!"

            " _Ori_?!  You ... you didn't ask me out because of my roommate, _Ori_?!   Why ever not?!"

            "I thought that was the kind of guy you liked!  Not everyone wants to date an athlete, you know!  Some prefer the artsy type!"

            "True!   But I'm not one of them!   I liked _you_ ... you idiot!"

            "I'm the idiot?!"  Thorin rolled his eyes.  "Do you know how many times I pulled some wild stunt on the pitch, _just_ to get you to notice me?!"

            "I DID NOTICE!  I just ... didn't know it was for me!"

            "And you call _me_ the idiot!"

            They both sat there, staring at each other, finally seeing what they'd missed all those years before.  So naturally, they both burst into laughter; Thorin's throaty laugh in beautiful contrast to Bilbo's riotous giggles.  It seemed to go on for ages, both just laughing at their own absurdity.   When they finally quieted, they had a whole new view of each other and their emotions, which no longer needed to be contained.

            "We really are a right, old pair of idiots!"  Bilbo said, a little breathless.  He was almost lightheaded.

            "My sister would probably agree!"  Thorin said, smiling.

            "I know my mother would," Bilbo stated emphatically.  

            Thorin’s shook his head, his smile become soft and gentle. “May I ... may I kiss you?”

            “Oh, God!” Bilbo returned Thorin's smile. “Please!”

            They stood at the same time, and Thorin slowly reached out with one hand and with a gentle tug on one of Bilbo’s shoulders, brought them together. Bilbo placed his hands on Thorin’s waist, while Thorin cupped Bilbo’s face with both hands and closed the distance between their lips.

            It was warm and almost chaste in its sweetness, but both drew a breath and held it, drinking in the scent and essence of the other. Bilbo slide his hands up Thorin’s back to his shoulders while Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo and held him close. Their mouths opened slightly and the kiss grew deeper and richer, their lips sliding against each other and the tongues did a slow dance together.

            When the kiss ended, they did not part but drew each other as close as possible, Bilbo lay a cheek on Thorin’s broad chest and Thorin lay his own upon Bilbo’s wavy-haired head. Both released their breaths in contentment.

            “I love your cologne,” Bilbo whispered, taking a deep breath of Thorin.

            Thorin chuckled. “I’m not wearing any.”

            “Then your soap is wonderful. How did you know? Did you remember?”

            “Remember what?”

            “Orange is one of my favorite scents.”

            Thorin made a mental note to thank Dis.

 

\-----ooooo-----

           

            Three hours later, after two back to back sessions of love-making, they were cuddled up on the couch, Bilbo wearing Thorin’s old rugby shirt, a pair of flannel sleep pants and heavy socks, while Thorin was comfortable in a beat up, ancient band tee-shirt - The Smiths - and baggy sweat pants, along with socks that matched Bilbo’s.  The fire burning low but warmly. They played footsies, rubbing them against each other as they shared long overdue, langorous kisses.

            They hadn’t spoke in about an hour; what was there to say at the moment that wasn't abundantly clear already.  Although, it wasn’t too long before Thorin did have a very important question.

            “Bilbo?”

            “Hummmm?” Bilbo was far too busy petting Thorin’s beard and kissing the man to use words.

            “I know it’s a little soon, but ...”

            Bilbo pulled back a bit. “I adore you, but if you’re going to ‘pop the question’, my answer is ‘No.’” Bilbo gave Thorin a kiss even as Thorin laughed. “At least ... its 'no' for now.”

            “I adore you as well,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo’s forehead. “But that wasn’t my question.”

            “Oh, good.” They both giggled at that.

            “I was just wondering ...” Thorin said, “... and you ... don't have to, of course .... but, if you'd care to ...”

            “Thorin!” Bilbo chastised with another giggle. “Just ask me!”

            “Would you ... mind ... or like ... going with me to my sister’s on Boxing Day?”

            Bilbo laughed outright. “I'd like it very much!  But ... why was that so hard to ask me?”

            “Well ...” Thorin shrugged, clearing his throat. “There are many that would think a family meeting a bit soon ... especially as we've only just reconnected.”

            “I don't think that at all,” Bilbo said, touched that Thorin would be so considerate. “I’d love very much to meet you family.”

            Thorin’s smile was brilliant. “That’s ... that’s wonderful!”

            “Would you care go with me to my parent’s ... for New Year’s Eve?”

            “Gladly!”

            Once more they were lost in their closeness but neither wanted it any other way. The snow fell outside and the fire glowed, and, although it was never stated, neither had ever felt such happiness and joy.

            As they snuggled close, Thorin began to hum a Christmas carol that had Bilbo surprised but thrilled; _In Praise of Christmas._ Bilbo was amazed.“I love that song!”

            Thorin nodded. “It’s one of my favorites.”

            “Mine too!”

            “One more thing to connect us.” Thorin leaned down and kissed the tip of Bilbo’s nose.

            _Yes, among so many things,_ Bilbo thought and gently tugged on Thorin’s hair, so that he could give Thorin a proper snogging!

            What they did not know, but certainly did hope, was that it was the begining of many long and joyous years, each Christmas season being better than the last.

            And they lived happily, all the rest of their days.

 

 

 

_All hail to the days that merit more praise_

_Than all the rest of the year_

_And welcome the nights that double delights_

_As well for the poor as the peer!_

_Good fortune attend each merry man's friend_

_That doth but the best that he may_

_Forgetting old wrongs with carols and songs_

To drive the cold winter away.

_[(In Praise Of Christmas, by Loreena McKennitt) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWXuxjzpx6M) _

 

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Thorin's story about his knee is based on a real event ... my brother used to play basketball in college and he was very very good (they said he might have gone professional had he been given the chance) ... but he had a bad injury (broke his knee cap and tore the ligaments) and then, indeed, walked out of the hospital on a snowy, winter's day, slipped on ice and re-injured it to the extreme ... he ended up having three surgeries and when it was all over, so were his athletic dreams.


End file.
